


Heaven's Call

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, acomaf, little bit of everything in this thing really, post acomaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set post ACOMAF. Lucien takes Elain to the glen and the lake of starlight Feyre visited in ACOTAR, there to two of them fully explore the bond between them. Mating bond acceptance; fluff, angst, smut, it’s all in here. Essentially their chapter 55. </p>
<p>Her voice is perfectly steady and contains a trace of that fire he’s felt growing in her in answer to him over these past few weeks together, “I know my sisters try and protect me and shelter me from the world. I know everyone thinks I’m soft and fragile and that I need to be looked after all the time. But I am not a child,” she says, her voice growing stronger with each word as she draws herself up, “I am woman. I am a survivor. I am your friend, your mate. And I know what I want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven's Call

The moon that hangs above the glen brings the starlight in the pool before them alive in a way it never quite achieves by day; a magic that only truly comes into its full potential in the night from which it was formed. He can see the silver of it reflected in Elain’s sweet brown eyes and he hides his smile as he carefully guides her through the tangled forest towards it.

Elain’s slim, soft fingers squeeze his tightly and he gives them a reassuring squeeze back as he takes her right to the edge of the sparkling, dancing lake, glancing back at her to see that her eyes have gone as big and round as coins. She hovers close to him, her body brushing against his and sending sparks cascading through him every time she does so, her fingers still entwined through his, taking in the scene around them.

They’ve been doing this for almost a month now, seeing one another, slipping out of the crowded, chaotic manor house to steal some quiet moments to get to know one another. He’s shown her all around the Spring Court lands, letting the raw magic of the Court blend with her own, encouraging her with it and helping her to hone and shape it while they explore the strange, ever deepening connection between them.

 Every second he spends in her company is one he thanks the Cauldron for. She brings him to life in a way he hadn’t believed possible, makes him feel things he thought he’d long since forgotten and was no longer capable of experiencing. In her soft, warm eyes he’s found the hope that had been so devastatingly torn from him for the past three centuries.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Lucien sends a half a dozen little lights into the air around them, hovering like giant fireflies, bathing them in a rich, comforting glow that illuminates the wonder shining in her face as she stares at the glen surrounding them. Every place he’s taken her has inspired such joy and delight in her. He doesn’t think there’s any end to the light that lives in her soul. As he watches her now and feels something flicker and kindle in his chest at the sight he knows he’d happily spend his eternity doing whatever he could to make her look like that.

They crouch down beside the edge and Elain finally manages to tear her eyes from the shimmering surface to look at him again, “What is it?”

“Starlight,” he answers promptly, without a trace of hesitation.

The pout that creases her pretty face is so achingly familiar to him already that he can’t help the broad grin that tugs at his lips as she gives him a very gentle nudge with her elbow in protest, “Be serious,” she chides him and he blinks at her in mock outrage, as though mortally wounded by her lack of faith in his assertion.

“I am!” he insists indignantly, and she narrows her eyes in suspicion, a look that he’ll never be able to describe as anything other than adorable,” It’s starlight,” he promises her again, his voice and face utterly serious, as she’d requested.

“You swear it?” she challenges him, hands bracing on her hips, a gleam flickering in those earthy eyes.

“I swear it,” he promises her faithfully and she blinks, expression clearing while she bites her lip and considers this, looking back at the pool, clearly struggling to process this information.

On some instinct her hand reaches out to it, drawn to the magic of the lake, then, apparently thinking better of it, she withdraws sharply as though burned. Lucien smiles and dips his hand into the liquid, caressing it, savouring the way it slides past his skin, like the finest silk he’s ever felt, like her soft hair gliding past his hand when they kiss, to show her that it’s safe.

“You can touch it,” he assures her, grinning playfully as he withdraws his hand then flicks it towards her, spattering her with the warm droplets that had clung to his fingertips.

She looses a soft little growl at him that shudders through his core then inches closer, “What does it feel like?” she whispers a little breathlessly and the smile he gives her in answer is broad and inviting.

“Why don’t we find out?” he lets his voice drop into a rich purr that he watches tremble through her.

A daring smile edged by that spark in her soul he’s delighting in encouraging her to explore spreads across her lips, “Why don’t we,” she murmurs, the heat of her breath warming his lips due to their proximity.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he breathes back to her.

Then he kisses her, soft and sweet. They’ve shared so many shy, chaste little kisses over the past few weeks that he’s lost track. The pretty flush of pleasure it inspires in her cheeks still makes him smile. Centuries could pass between them and he doesn’t think he could ever tire of that – or of kissing her. The feel of her gentle mouth against his, the taste of her, the scent of her filling every inch of him and making the bond between them sing in his blood. If the Cauldron allows him the chance he’ll happily spend each and every day kissing her- his _mate_ -and count each one up as a blessing.

Drawing away, cheeks still rosy, that faint smile he suspects is just for him lighting up her features, Elain begins to fumble with the ties on the bodice of the light, loose red dress she wears. Reaching out, his fingers brush the back of her hand, tentative and questioning. She blinks up at him, pausing as he’d wanted her to do.

Lucien swallows and says a little hoarsely, “Let me,” he watches the tremble quiver through her delicate body at his words, at the implication laced into them.

Her eyes meet his and he sees her read the want in his eyes and could swear he sees a flicker of hunger stirring in her too before she smiles and shoots back, “Only if you let me, too.” Her fingers bump down gently from button to button on his green tunic as she speaks to make her meaning quite plain.

Delight sparks through him at this thoughtless playfulness and he catches her fingers in his hand, lightly brushing them with his lips and says, before she can think too much and become self-conscious of her instinctive reply, “Deal.”

Shifting in closer to her he sits in the downy grass, cross-legged in front of her and reaches out to her. His fingers lightly brush the tops of her soft breasts and he dares to let them linger for just a moment, feeling her breathing hitch at the scrape of his rough calluses against her delicate skin. Glancing up at her he pauses but her eyes are already waiting to meet his and there’s a hunger flickering in them, a smouldering ember that stirs there. He smiles and, having given her the chance to stop him which she firmly refused, continues.

With sure, deft fingers he unties the knots at the top of her dress and then reaches down and tugs, pulling the lace slowly through the hole it was threaded through. With his other hand he undoes the opposite lace. Down and down he goes along the crisscrossing ladder of ties that keeps her dress intact, shuddering with the anticipation that builds and builds as he moves towards her navel.

She keeps perfectly still the whole time, her hands braced lightly on his knees, balancing herself, her eyes on his, never breaking his gaze. As he finally pulls the silk free and discards it on the ground he allows his eyes to drift from hers for the first time, taking her in. He inches a little closer to her, rising up on his knees as he opens up the now loose corset around her chest and peels the two halves apart.

The loose red silk of her dress pools around her, baring her to him and his breath catches as he drinks in every stunning inch of her. Her pale skin glows in the light from the shimmering lake behind them and the lights he had conjured that float above them, smooth as marble gilded with oil, unblemished, utterly perfect.

A shiver runs through her and she raises her hands to cover herself, a deep blush staining her cheeks. His hands shoot out, the tips of his fingers gently brush her arm, “Don’t,” he says softly, “Please.”

Cautiously, she lets her hands drop away, letting him in, letting him see her and the glen around them feels utterly airless as he takes her in. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, simple, unadorned words, without any of the flowery finery he usually lets fall from his tongue when attempting to charm but it makes her smile for him in that way she does.

It’s something she’s heard often he doesn’t doubt, but from him, from her mate, those two words speak to all of her, to the body he’s bared, to the deep, rich eyes that whisper through his dreams, to her fine hands and the life they’ve coaxed from their cruel, stubborn world, to the soul that glimmers beneath her skin, calling to his through their bond.

Moving in a little closer to him, she places her palms flat against his chest and meets his mismatched eyes as she says with a faint kick at the end of her words that undoes him, “My turn.”

****

She feels the shudder that murmurs through him in response to her words but he sits back, bracing his hands behind him, opening himself up to her. With a shy smile she lets her fingers fumble at the bright silver fastenings of his forest green tunic. She manages to get into a steady rhythm, the kind borne of the sewing skills her mother had drilled into her when she was younger. She had taken to them best of her sisters, Feyre had been too young and wild to be content with the activity and Nesta too impatient but she had found comfort in the patterns and repetitiveness and she relies on those habits now as her hands begin to tremble. But before she quite knows it she’s reached the bottom.

Biting her lip she inches even closer to him until she can feel the heat radiating from his skin as she slips her fingers beneath the lapels of his tunic and slides it slowly from his shoulders. His skin is a faint gold, tanned by the warm Spring Court sun he spends his days beneath. She can’t help herself from reaching out and letting her fingers skim over the crafted muscles of his chest, moving down and down until she reaches the hard planes of his stomach.

His skin burns beneath her touch and she can’t seem to get enough of it, can’t tear her hands away from him. It’s as though there’s a magnetic pull between them that she can’t fight against and can’t draw back from and doesn’t want to. As she takes him in her fingers begin to find the scars, the rough tears in his skin from brutal cuts and wounds that he’s taken over the centuries.

 Her fingertips feather lightly over each one tracing the catalogue of the violence and brutality that he’s endured like she’s mapping constellations in the night sky; hesitantly she lingers on a particularly deep, ragged one that begins at the base of his chest and ends just above his bellybutton. She can’t comprehend what kind of wound he, with the healing power that flows in his immortal blood, must have endured to leave such a lasting impression upon his body. But she shudders at the thought of it, of anyone harming him so badly.

 Her eyes scan each scar on display slowly. They tell a part of his story, the part that’s been written in blood and etched into his flesh. The part that speaks to the darkness that haunts his russet eye when she catches him with his walls down; the walls he puts up to keep her from seeing the demons that swim in the hollows of his soul.

Her hand settles over his heart and feels it beating beneath his ribs. It’s that part of him she wishes she could touch. She doesn’t care to read the stories written in his injuries, not now – now she wants to reach into him and find the gentle parts of him that have remained untouched for too long. She wants to draw them into her and savour each and every one, wants to find the light that still lives beneath his battered skin.

Lifting her eyes once more to his she encourages him to stand before her then rises up on her knees. Her hands are perfectly steady this time as she undoes the ties on his trousers, barely even looking at what she’s doing, keeping her eyes on his instead as he watches her with wonder, his lips slightly parted. He steps out of his trousers as she eases them down his legs, leaving them both in nothing but their underwear. She lightly presses her lips to his thighs in a way that makes a soft laugh huff out of him then she widens her eyes and nods pointedly towards the lake.

Still chuckling, Lucien reaches down and helps her to her feet, rubbing noses with her before he gives her a wolfish grin and turns away from her, bracing a hand on the bank as he jumps straight into the pool, sending the starlight within sloshing up over the bank and lapping over her feet.

But she barely feels it. And the laughter that was bubbling up inside her own chest dies the moment he turns his back to her. The top half is a mess of churned, ravaged skin, long, deep stripes overlapping one another in a brutal, crisscrossing pattern that could leave no-one in any doubt what had happened to him.

He had told her about it, the whipping he’d endured Under the Mountain. The whipping the brutal High Queen Amarantha had forced Tamlin to give him after he had called out a warning and saved Feyre’s life in her first task. They had spent a night in a meadow that extended out to every horizon and had seemed to her to fill the whole world and he’d explained everything.

 Lying together on the blanket he’d brought he had pointed to the wheeling heavens above them and told her the names of all of the constellations and how they and the stories behind them differed at each court and how he had learned them all when he’d travelled between them as a boy and then later as Tamlin’s emissary.

 She had asked him about that, about his role at the Spring Court and he had told her everything she had asked without hesitation or restraint. The story about the scar on his face and his missing eye which had made her stomach twist and an anger she had never known she possessed flare inside her. And then he had gone on to share with her some of the other, more brutal scars that marred his body, to prepare her if they ever reached this bridge they were at now and she found the courage to cross.

But now that she sees it for herself she realises that nothing he could have told her would ever have made her ready to face this. Or the rage that burns so fiercely in her blood that thorn covered vines punch out through the ground beside her clenched fist.

Noticing that she hasn’t yet joined him Lucien turns his head to look over his shoulder at her, his mouth forming a question he never needs to ask, finding the answer to it reflected in her eyes, noting what they’re still locked on.

Her fingers reach out and very gently and, as though the wounds are still raw and bleeding, brush over his back. He shivers slightly at her touch but doesn’t flinch away from her, “It looks worse than it is,” he tells her quietly, swallowing hard as he recalls, “She didn’t let any of our magic heal it so...” he trails off as he meets her blazing eyes.

“I’m glad she’s dead,” Elain murmurs with a viciousness that takes even her aback.

But that woman, that monster, had harmed him, hurt him, scarred him, _broke_ n him. Her mate.

The bond that lives within them pulses then, more strongly than it ever has before, connecting them, flaring up her instincts to nurture and protect.

Lucien nods, a wry smile twisting his lips, “There are a lot of people who are glad of that. She was...”

“A monster,” Elain finishes for him as he breaks off with a shudder, unable to find the right words.

 He nods and she softens at once at the look on his face. Cupping his cheek in her hand she brushes her thumb gently over the scar that tears through his face, the scar given to them by the violent queen that had ruled them and harmed so many, and murmurs very quietly, “But she can’t hurt you anymore. I wouldn’t let her.” The words that tumble from her lips without thought and she blinks, a little embarrassed, but he smiles and leans in to her touch before he takes a swift, decisive step towards her.

“Come,” he says with a sudden wicked grin that she already knows too well, “The starlight’s lovely,” he says with a playful growl.

She giggles, the tension of the last few moments discussing Amarantha broken just like that. But her laughter turns into loud squeals of surprise when he slides his arms around her waist from where she’d been sitting on the bank and lifts off her feet before bringing her down to him, easing her into the liquid that flows around them, holding her close as he does so, knowing she’s not a very strong swimmer.

She gasps, her eyes going wide as he lowers her slowly down into it and she can’t help herself from reaching out a hand, letting it flow through her fingers. It feels like warm, melted butter, sliding smoothly through her fingers, or perhaps like rich, blended silk, she can’t quite decide. Smiling she lifts her hand and watches in amazement as it trickles back into the pool looking like liquid diamonds that fall from the tips of her fingers.

****

Lucien watches the wonder in her eyes as she beholds the starlight that flows from her fingers, a broad smile on her face. When she turns to look at him again he kisses her. He can’t help himself, with her in his arms, pressed against him the way she is, looking at him like _that_. His lips find hers and crash against them and her smile widens against him at his exuberance as she kisses him right back.

 Her hands hook underneath his shoulders and curl around his arms, pressing in close to him as he deepens the kiss, his mouth encouraging hers to open under his. He could live for a hundred eternities on the taste of her tongue alone. That and the sound of her laughter bubbling through him could sustain him until the end of this world and carry him through into the birth of the next. Her fingers slowly wind through his hair, like the roots of her beloved plants finding a safe anchor point in him and he lets a soft growl of approval lick through them as she gently pulls on it.

Lucien never quite knows how long they remain like that, entwined in one another’s arms, their lips joined, indulging in one another so completely. The dawn might have come and he wouldn’t have noticed. War might have broken out and ravaged the lands and with his mouth on hers he’d never know it. The world could have ended and taken them with it but as long as she remained his, remained in his arms, remained kissing him the world could do whatever it damn well pleased; just so long as it never tried to take her from him or him from her.

When they finally part she wraps her arms around him and buries her face into the crook of his neck, sighing in contentment. Smiling faintly, Lucien rests his chin on top of her head after pressing a soft kiss to her burnt gold hair. Then he eases his arms around her, cuddling her against him.

“I’m glad I met you, Lucien,” she murmurs softly against his skin and his whole body goes taut and so very still as she goes on, resting her head against his shoulder, “These last few weeks with you...I can’t remember being happier than this at any point in my life.” He swallows, his hands stilling on her back, letting her say what she needs to.

“I resented being Made. I resented what they did to me...”

She pauses, clinging to him a little more tightly at the memories. The Cauldron. She still has nightmares about it even now. He holds her now the way he’s held her when she cries out in the darkness of the room they’ve taken to quietly sharing with one another and she finds the strength to go on.

“It stripped away everything I thought I had, it took away the future that I’d planned for myself and I hated it. I hated what was done to me. I hated what was taken so much that...That I never let myself see what I might have gained.”

She lifts her head to look into his eyes she cups his cheek in her hand, “I’m glad it happened,” she murmurs softly to him, “I’m glad to have been Made since it meant I found you. I’m glad I have you, Lucien.”  

Leaning in she kisses him again, soft and tender, brushing her lips against his and gently rubbing noses with him when she withdraws. Then she slides out of his arms and heads back towards the bank. He follows her without really thinking about it, trailing along in her wake, catching up to her and looping his arms around her waist, turning her around and pressing her into the smooth, grassy edge of the lake as he leans down and kisses her again. Hard. She looses a faint little whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hand and shaping her movements to him.

Drawing back he kisses her forehead then slides his arms around her waist and lifts her up, setting her down gently on the edge. She gives him that little pout again and huffs good-naturedly, “I could have gotten out myself.”

“I know,” he purrs, nudging closer to stand between her legs and tugging her gently down to kiss him again, which she does, “I just can’t keep my hands off of you,” he murmurs, and to prove his point lets his callused hands slide up and down her bare sides, “Do you blame me?” he asks onto her lips before he kisses her once more.

She giggles again and presses a soft kiss to his nose before she says, “Come up here.”

Lucien obliges, hauling himself out of the pool noting, with no small amount of male satisfaction, the way her eyes follow the rivulets of starlight that run down his body. He gives her a broad, cocky grin as he flops comfortably beside her, their legs still dipping into the lake and trailing through it, feeling like he’s dragging himself through marble made liquid. He throws an arm lazily across her shoulders, his fingers twining through her damp hair, savouring the feel of it, the way the starlight caught in it makes it shiver like polished gold where the light hits.

Smiling shyly Elain reaches over to where her dress is still pooled on the lush grass behind them and rummages for a moment before she settles herself beside him, something clutched in her hand as she looks up at him and says, “I have something for you.”

“A present?” he says cheekily, grinning and softly kissing her cheek.

She nods but seems to hesitate for a moment before she holds out her hands and unwraps the napkin to reveal a small honey and lemon cake sitting on the palm of her hand. He blinks down at it as his mouth goes dry and his head empties entirely of thought, leaving him incapable of speech, incapable of doing anything but staring at it.

“I went down to the kitchens specially and asked them what your favourite was,” she says quietly, recalling him to herself as he drags his eyes slowly from the cake in her hand to look into her eyes again.  

“Elain,” he rasps, his voice so hoarse it feels as though someone’s dragged sand over the inside of his throat. Clearing it with a sharp cough he swallows and tries again, “A female offering her mate food is, it’s- Well it means that-“

“I know that it means,” she interrupts him very quietly and her words shock him more profoundly than anything he’s experienced in over three centuries stalking this world.

He slowly meets her eyes again and finds them blazing with a defiant light and it makes her seem more beautiful, more wonderful, more impossible than he could ever have imagined. His mate. His _mate_.  And what she’s offering him now; what she would give him now in this silent, glen with only the two of them in this sheltered world together and the stars that look down upon them from the heavens above.

“Are you sure?” he rasps hoarsely, trying not to flinch back from her, not to protest further, not to ask her if she knows what it would mean, accepting that bond between them, mating with him, binding herself to him for their eternity, but he can’t get the words out.

A part of him has always thought their bond was a travesty. From the moment he looked into those beautiful brown eyes and felt it in that throne room. The girl with so much spirit and hope left in her, the woman who spent years trapped in darkness and remained the only light in a cold, cruel world. The one who kept the fires inside her burning and waited out the hollowing emptiness of the night for the dawn she never failed to stop believing would come.

And him.

 The battered warrior whose skin was patterned with scars and bruises where hers was smooth and untouched except for the small spattering of freckles he thought looked like stars. The coward they could always break, could always rely on to yield in the end, who had let the world bow him until he could barely raise his eyes; and the woman who had found hope in despair and courage in desolation; the woman who had never given up when the world had given her every reason to. The shattered soul with more demons lurking on the ragged fringes and in the darkness than the blackest pits of hell and the gentle heart who had never allowed the things she’d endured to blacken even a piece of her. The hopeless and the hope; the beaten and the gentle; the light and the darkness; the lost and the path that leads the way home.

But she would always deserve better than that, better than this, better than the nothing he could offer her. When he had had time, when he had been able to process and think and realise what a fool he’d been, to declare so openly what she was to him he had decided that he wouldn’t pursue this; wouldn’t pursue her. He wasn’t going to force that bond to become her shackles, to chain her to him because something he couldn’t understand told him he ought to be with her.

He had told himself he would keep his distance, let her be, try and ignore the connection he felt between them every time she was near. But he had failed even in that, in that one thing he could do for her. They had been drawn to each other, had found themselves alone together so often he wondered if the Cauldron itself was conspiring against him. And the way she looked at him, the sound of her voice when she said his name, the feel of her lips on his when she’d kissed him...

But this. Something so permanent. Something so lasting and binding and eternal. Something so certain from her – certain that she wanted _him_ of all things was too much.

As though she’s read every thought that’s just run through him in his eyes she cups his face in her hand and tilts it towards her until he looks at her. Placing the little cake she’d brought him on her knee she reaches out and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it, calming some of his panic with her gentle touch.

“You’re my mate, Lucien,” she says quietly to him, her eyes never leaving his, “And I’m glad of that too. I’m glad that _you_ are my mate.” His throat bobs as he swallows and stares at her, opening his mouth to protest but she doesn’t give him the opportunity.

Her voice is perfectly steady and contains a trace of that fire he’s felt growing in her in answer to him over these past few weeks together, “I know my sisters try and protect me and shelter me from the world. I know everyone thinks I’m soft and fragile and that I need to be looked after all the time. But I am not a child,” she says, her voice growing stronger with each word as she draws herself up, “I am woman. I am a survivor. I am your friend, your _mate_. And I know what I want.”

Her fingers twine together with his and a soft smile touches her lips as she leans in and presses her forehead against his, “I want someone who never let hate corrupt their heart; someone who has endured and never become cruel or evil. I want someone who still knows how to laugh despite all of the horrors they’ve seen; who makes me laugh too.

“I want someone who makes me feel special. I want someone who looks at me and sees what I am capable of; the potential that no-one else ever even tried to see in me. I want someone who encourages me and inspires me and supports me.

"I want someone who makes this war worth fighting and this eternity worth living. I want _you_ , Lucien.”  

He stares at her with wonder in his eyes and emotion clogging his chest as she takes the hand she holds in hers and turns it over then presses the neatly wrapped little bundle into his hand and says softly but firmly, “I’m sure. Now eat the damn cake.”

A rough, hoarse laugh huffs from at that and he smiles. This woman, this wonder, who worked her way under his skin and into his heart with seamless ease now smiles back at him and he understands as he looks into her eyes, understands that when she was made, not by the Cauldron, but by whatever gods first shaped her and placed her into this world, that they were supposed to find each other. Because when she smiles at him like that something that makes up the very fabric of his being whispers their rightness; and from the look in her eyes as she watches him laugh he knows that she feels the same thing.

He eats the whole cake in front of her, savouring every bite, the finest thing he’s ever tasted; the finest thing he thinks he’ll ever taste no matter how long he lives and the moment he’s done he kisses her, his tongue still sweet and sticky from the honey but she doesn’t seem to mind from the way she hungrily parts her lips for him.

The kiss is long and deep and intense and he savours every single second of it. The heat of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the intoxicating taste of her that fills every empty space within him and binds him together, all combines to make this moment one he doesn’t think it’ll be possible to forget, not even if he lives to see the end of this world.

His hand cups her cheek, gently shaping her movements to him as he deepens the kiss and feels her whine onto his tongue. He shudders against her and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her body flush against his. Still she doesn’t break the kiss, she only reaches up and tangles her fingers through his long hair, still damp from the pool, glistening even as hers does.

As she kisses him, Lucien feels her tip backwards slowly, lying down on the soft, lush grass and coaxing him gently down with her. He follows her, taking care to keep himself braced over her as she settles herself beneath him, not wanting to crush her. The whole time he’s achingly aware of her, of how close she is, their bare skin brushing as he shifts in closer to her, his hand cradling her head, fingers easing through her burnt gold hair.

Drawing away, both of them breathing hard, their chests brushing against each other as they pant he strokes her hair away from her face, looking into her eyes. He can read the hunger there easily enough, the want that blazes through her when she looks at him and he shivers at the heat that pounds between them.

The bond thrums between them, like a plucked harp string left to resonate, the note echoing through his soul as he looks down at her and realises that he feels her. He feels her more strongly than he ever has before, the desire that radiates from her but also the acceptance, acceptance of this bond and acceptance of him, of all of him, every part, no matter how shattered or dark or lost. He could have loved her for that alone and nothing more.

He doesn’t ask her if she’s sure again. He can see it trembling through every part of her; he can feel it vibrating through the bond that binds them together in the darkness of the night. He kisses her lips once more, quick and fleeting, pulling away a moment later before he loses himself in the heat of her mouth once more and moves to her neck.

Starting slow he tests a few spots until he finds one that makes her shiver uncontrollably beneath him. Smiling against her skin he nuzzles into her then begins to kiss her there, softly sucking at the skin until she gasps. Then he moves on, scraping his teeth over her collar on the way down to her breasts. With gentle fingers he undoes the cotton binding around them and lets it fall away. His mouth descends a moment later, his tongue and his teeth gently sucking and tugging at her nipples until they harden for him and her body is arching against him, her hands grasping helplessly at the grass beneath her.

Hovering over her he smiles, gently kissing her cheek as he gives her a moment to breathe and compose herself. “Was that good?” he purrs gently, dipping down and softly nibbling at her earlobe and, upon discovering that this makes her shiver, begins sucking gently on it as he waits for her answer.

“Yes,” she manages to whisper to him at last, her hands clenching and unclenching convulsively as she tries to control herself.  

The smile he gives her in response is near feral and she shudders in anticipation at the sight of it. Kissing her lips again he trails his fingers in broad, lazy circles on the insides of her thighs; just brushing the surface of her and no more. His lips drift to her neck again and begin kissing in that spot that had made her gasp before and he’s delighted to hear the sound again as he begins to work her there, his fingers spiralling a little higher up her leg as he does so.

With a soft whine Elain loops her fingers around his wrist and drags his hand right up to the juncture between her thighs. His eyes widen slightly and he draws away slowly from her neck to look down into her eyes. Stroking back her hair he gently kisses her lips then murmurs down onto them, his fingers easing gently under the hem of her underwear, the tip of his finger softly trailing over her skin, “Is that what you want?”

She nods frantically to him, biting her lip and giving his hand a little push to guide him in the right direction. A soft laugh is huffed against her lips that quickly turns into a groan as he eases his fingers properly into her underwear and discovers that she’s already wet for him. “Good,” he murmurs to her, starting to move his fingers in slow, pulsing circles, working her up, testing her limits, making sure that she’s comfortable with every touch.

Shifting himself slightly so that he hovers completely over her, looking down into her face, judging every expression, every flutter of her eyes, every soft whine that makes it past her lips and tailoring his touches to her responses. Sensing her need as she begins trembling he increases his rhythm, making it a little faster and harder and she whimpers wordlessly to him, her eyes clamping shut, her hands fisting into the grass again as she tries to cling to the composure he’s determined to make her lose.  

Smiling he lets his lips kiss her neck again. In response she whines loudly and incoherently and he chuckles against her skin, moving his fingers even faster against her until he feels her buck her hips up against his hand, “Do you like that, pet?” he breathes, letting his voice vibrate through her too as he asks. She nods desperately, her hands flexing convulsively where they’re gripping onto the grass with everything she has.

With another wicked grin he gently eases a finger up inside her. The moan that splinters from her as he does so almost ruins him. Swallowing hard, his breathing turning a little ragged he kisses her and drags his lips over her neck, placing a ring of kisses across the slender column of her throat as she arches back her head to allow him access.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, his tone gentle and loving as his lips find hers again and softly kiss, trying to soothe the desperate heat that’s burning through her, even as he eases another finger into her and causes her to moan into his mouth.

She nods again, even more urgently this time and he smiles at her, at the sweat that gleams on her sun-kissed skin, the way her hair fans around her, the way her hands leave the grass to wrap around him, clutching desperately at his back, pulling him closer, as though she can’t possibly have enough of him.

“Lucien,” she whispers to him and the way she bends her breath around his name makes him groan as a shudder ripples through him.

Closing his eyes he kisses her lips and whispers, “You look so beautiful laid out and losing your mind for me like this.”

She chokes on the gasp that rattles through her chest in response to his words, her eyes clamping shut. His lips return to her neck once more, kissing and sucking relentlessly at that place that made her first start to fray at the seams for him.

 She arches up into him, her fingers burying themselves in his long, red hair, “Please,” she pants out to him, her chest heaving as she tries to force enough air into her lungs to breathe through the pleasure he knows he’s inspiring in her, “ _Please._ ”

He pauses a little, cocking his head to one side before he smiles wolfishly down at her, “Please?” he repeats teasingly, his lips grazing absently against her neck.

“ _Lucien_ ,” she growls and a faint flicker of delight pulses through him at the sound of that soft growl, the first he’s managed to coax from her, “Lucien, _please_ ,” she begs – _begs_ – him.

With a soft snarl of his own he begins to move his fingers in a swift, pulsing rhythm over her, watching her reactions with awe at the look on her face and adjusting his touches to suit her needs until she’s shuddering around him. He leans down to kiss her neck once more and as her whines and when pleas turn into desperate moans he draws away, his eyes feasting on her, wanting to watch her as she comes for him at last.

As she slowly calms herself down again, panting and running her fingers through his hair, as though grounding herself in him, he presses light kisses to her lips and neck and heaving chest, meant to soothe and quiet rather than arouse now. Once she’s settled a little beneath him he begins slowly kissing his way down her body, peppering soft kisses from her lips down to her stomach.

He pauses as he rests between her legs and blinks up at her, softly rubbing his nose up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh before he lets his eyes flicker back up to hers, giving her a raw, wolfish smile as he asks hungrily, “More?”

A wicked little smile that sends a thrill through him is all he needs to see from her before he buries his mouth between her thighs. Elain’s stifled cry echoes through his blood as it burns through him.

He lets his tongue softly begin stroking her, keeping his rhythm slow and steady though every inch of him urges him to devour her and make her his. He goes slow, letting her get used to it, conscious of the fact that this is her first time, trying a few different things to help her decide what she likes.

Once her hands slide into his hair and begin tugging him harder against her he takes that as his cue to increase his pace again, his hands reaching up and holding her hips as she begins to tremble again.

Her head tilts back and she arches her body against him, crying out wordlessly in pleasure as he takes his time with her, the stroking of his tongue steady and controlled, building her up and up and up until  she’s shaking. Her fingers grab thick fistfuls of his hair and cling to him and he smiles against her.

Then she tugs sharply on his hair, drawing him away and he stops at once blinking up at her, his hands gentling on her waist, questioning concern in his gaze as he looks up at her.

“I, I need, I need-“ she pants hopelessly, her whole body trembling, her soft skin now slick with sweat.

He pulls himself up until he lies alongside, running his fingers soothingly through her tangled hair, flecks of glittering starlight still trapped in it like a shower from the heavens above, “What?” he murmurs quietly, softly kissing her cheek, “What do you need?” he kisses her again, this time on those soft lips he loves so well, “Tell me,” he breathes, kissing her once more, “And I’ll give it to you,” he pledges, “Anything. Anything for you.”

“ _You,_ ” she gasps to him, her fingers still feebly tugging on his hair, “I need you, Lucien. I need you inside me. I need it. _Now_.” Something snaps in him at that last word, that last _snarl_ from her and he kisses her hard as he braces himself over her, one hand on her cheek the other gliding down her body and tugging away her underwear at last.

****

Elain gazes up at Lucien as he braces himself above her. They’re barely a hair’s breadth from each other, nothing at all separating them now but sweat and skin and the air so taut she could almost slice through it to get to him. Heat radiates from his skin and surrounds her even as he surrounds her. His scent envelopes her like a cool night breeze, cinnamon and apples and the faint tang of metal, and she smiles softly at the thought of him being so near. Her mate. Her mate, her mate, her _mate_.

The bond between them feels as alive as they themselves are. It pulses and pounds and roars between them taking every desire she has for him, for them, and amplifying it until it fills every inch of her. When she had climaxed for him she had felt it shudder through her along with the taut waves of pleasure, purring its approval at their intimacy and it guided her on now making her want more, need more, _demand_ more of him.

When the time had come to consummate whatever relationship she found herself in she had been sure she would be nervous, perhaps even afraid. But nothing about this male scares her. And nothing about the bond between them does either. And she doesn’t know how she could have fought against it so hard all those weeks before she met him. Because the thought of being without him now, the thought of fighting against this now is too much for her to comprehend.

In the grass lying beneath him, his lips on hers, the feel and heat and smell and taste of him drowning out every sense she has Elain feels safe and wanted and worshipped. And when he looks at her the way he does, drinking in every inch of her with such wonder, such awe, as though he beholds some great masterpiece or the birth of the world itself in her eyes; as though this is the one and only chance he’ll have to see anything again and he wants it to be her, he wants to commit every line and blemish and freckle to memory.

His hands map out every curve of her body, even after her demand he still takes things steady. It’s for her sake she knows. She can feel the hunger in him, but more than wanting her he wants her to be comfortable and feel in control. She trusts him, she knows the second she betrays so much as a hint of uncertainty he’d stop. She doesn’t need to ask him that to know, the aching tenderness with which he touches her, _worships_ her, is enough.

She doesn’t rush him either, as he leans in and kisses her so gently, she wraps her arms around him, embracing him, holding him to her, wanting him too to find some safety and shelter in the warmth of her arms. He’s been too long without refuge and respite from a world that has shown him little but cruelty and brutality. For him she will be safety and gentleness and patience. She will be salvation. She will be comfort. She will be home; someone he can always return to, who will always protect him from those who would harm him and never ask any from him except the knowledge that he’s safe.

His whole body quivers in anticipation, she can feel it trembling through her, feel it vibrating in her chest, roaring through her blood, taking every piece of her body and bending it to his will, making it shudder and dance to the beat of his hands and lips and touch. Her lungs are struggling to find the air to breathe and her heart is racing and hammering beneath her ribs, pounding in desperate time with his.

Finding her hand he twines their fingers together and lifts it to brush his lips to her skin as he looks down at her, question and answer both in the russet eye that fixes on her, full of desperate hunger and tender love in equal measure. She nods to him; ready, she’s ready, for him, for her mate, her friend, her worthwhile eternity. Reaching up a little she presses her forehead to his and they remain like that, their eyes fixed unblinkingly upon each other, their gazes never faltering, wanting to share this as completely as they can as he squeezes her hand and enters her slowly.

The breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding quite so tightly releases as he slides slowly in to her. The look of awe in his eyes tells her that he feels what she feels. That bond between them glows like a torch in their hearts, so strong and so bright when she brushes her fingers over his chest that a part of her is almost surprised that she doesn’t see light struggling to break through the cracks in his skin to reach her.

He settles once he’s fully sheathed inside her, letting her adjust to this feeling, this wonderful, indescribable feeling of being full and whole and _everything_ all at once. She knows then, as she loops her arms around him, her palms pressing flat against his scarred back, refusing to flinch from the rough uneven skin as she pulls him closer, that she can never have enough of him, never be close enough to him, never spend enough time with him inside her like this.

 It feels so achingly _right_ , more so than anything she’s ever done before. She had never felt incomplete without him, and he had made sure she never felt that way, never felt that this bond had found the part that was supposed to complete her, made sure that she was her own person, that she didn’t him him a damn thing and had no obligation to be with him. She had choices. And with those choices she would choose this; she would choose him again and again and again.  

With him she’s found a partner, a balance to guide her through her waiting immortality. With him she’s found someone who makes the eternity spread out before her- the eternity that had consumed her waking moments and terrified her so completely with the looming threat of endless time- not only bearable but welcome. Because with him, far from feeling impossibly, overwhelmingly long, that eternity feels too small, too short, too insignificant - because no amount of time with him could ever be enough.

The whole world seems to have contracted down to this moment, this glen, this patch of grass and starlight that contains them and the lifetime she wants to- _will-_ spend with him. Her mate. Her counter. Her balance. Her friend. Her soul’s first answer.

The one who makes it all worth it, the war, the bloodshed, the fear – the one for whom she knows she’d gladly fight and bloody the hands that have spent so long buried in the earth drawing life from it to stop them taking him away from her. The one she knows will fight for her until the last breath leaves his lungs and even then he’d find some way to watch over her, to keep her safe.

 The one in who’s arms she’d like to live and die and never leave, not for any price or any demon, not even for the Cauldron itself. Cursed and blessed both by her tongue; it Made her and shaped her and changed her and gave her this gift, this male, this mate. But she won’t let even it take him from her now.

_Nothing._ Nothing that bond sings quietly to her. Nothing can tear them apart now that this connects them. Unbreakable. Unknowable. Eternal.

Lucien slowly begins to move inside her, pulling out just a little before he eases himself back in and her body wants to cry out whenever it feels him withdraw, not wanting even that, even for the fraction of a heartbeat that he’s gone, she wants him returned to her. But when he slides back in to her again her body sings its pleasure and that bond purrs his name and sends it burning through her blood and her tongue gifts it to the heavens above them and over and over again.

With every gentle thrust into her she whimpers his name and he groans in wordless pleasure, his lips buried at her neck, mouthing soundlessly against her skin. Her fingers drag along the length of his spine until they reach his hair and tangle through it, tugging lightly, trying to tell him what she can’t find the breath or the words to say; that she needs more.

He understands and with a soft kiss to her lips he gradually increases his pace, pushing in a little faster and harder and deeper, filling the desperate need for him that sears through her. She can’t contain the loud cry that bursts from her as he hits a spot inside her that sends pleasure rattling through her bones.

Her eyes flutter open, panting, as he pauses and cups her cheek tenderly in his hand. She opens her mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he says urgently, “Are you alright?”

Taking his face in both of her hands she pulls him down to kiss her, the bond blazing between them at his concern for her. Drawing away she nods to him, her brow pressed to his again as she whispers softly, “Yes. Yes. Please, please don’t stop,” her words are breathless and cracked with desperation.

He smiles slowly, tenderly stroking back her sweaty hair and kissing her lips again, swallowing the soft whines that come from her as he starts up again, a steady, smooth rhythm for her sake. He gasps as she slowly begins to lift her hips to meet each thrust. Cupping her face in his hands again he looks into her eyes as he whispers hoarsely, “You feel incredible,” his lips descend on hers then drag along her jaw, her neck, her collar, “My mate,” he breathes in reverence, “My _mate_.”

Her soul hums its pleasure at those words, at the way they sound falling from his lips, at the rightness of them. She feels the bond between them again, drawing them in together, a magnetic pull from his soul to hers that would mean she could find him blind and deaf and thousands of miles away – a bond that would let her find him even if the shuddering arms of death, always so close, so present and familiar to her from when she’d been mortal, had closed around her.

The strength of it overwhelms her; the strength of a god on a battlefield with the will of a relentless, pounding tide and the power of life and death itself. But it doesn’t scare her. Not now; not when it’s Lucien that it binds her too. Elain opens herself up to it; to him; embracing that bond, letting it claim her as she lets him claim her, and as he lets her claim him in turn. She urges him to do the same and slowly, cautiously, she feels him let her in.

Every wall he’s built around himself with brick and clay and iron, growing higher each decade he dwelled in darkness and sought to protect himself from it slowly crumbles before her gentle request. Every barrier between them slowly melts away as he gives himself to her – only her – his mate. Their minds and souls and magics blend and fuse together in the grey twilight between their beings and she can’t contain the laugh that bursts from her lips at the rush of exhilaration that pulses through her in response.

This feels good, this feels _right_ , this feels like what she was made for, what her body was crafted with the intention of being – the perfect fit for his – why she was given this magic and this immortality – so that she might spend it with him, as though the Cauldron knew that the few decades they might have been allowed together otherwise would never have been enough to contain what she feels for him in this moment.

The bond between them deepens still further as they let themselves meld more completely than she ever believed possible. It solidifies, becoming a tangible link that tethers their souls together – her anchor, her friend, her everything. In this moment as their bodies are joined she knows she never wants to part from him and thanks the world for this gift, this connection that will bind them through their eternity together and mean that she never truly has to.

Magic flows freely from her without restraint where before she had always tried to check it, always tried to pull it back. But now she lets it, utterly unafraid of her own power, her own potential, not with him here with her. It pulses out in waves, joining as it so often has with the raw magic that blazes through this court but it calls to Lucien’s power too, urging it to blend and play with hers and he allows it.

Thick vines ease from the grounds around them, called up by her and fed by the surging light that he commands and they encase them, forming a canopy above and around their joined bodies, isolating them from the world, letting them have this moment, the moment they accept the bond between them and everything that accompanies it, entirely alone together.

Lucien shifts deftly above her and she whines faintly in response as he speeds up again, his hand cupping her face, his rhythm becoming a little more erratic as he pants her name against her lips. Elain closes her eyes, her body melting into his, surrendering herself entirely to him, to their bond, their infinity.

His breathing turns ragged and he scrabbles blindly and desperately for her hand, needing something to cling to, needing something to anchor himself to. Finding it at last when she reaches out and meets him, he squeezes it tightly, pressing their joined hands against his chest as he gasps out, “Elain. Elain, Elain, I-“

She nods, cupping his face in her hand, guiding him down to kiss her, knowing what he wants, what he needs and giving it to him, bucking her hips against his, meeting each thrust, drawing him more deeply in to her with each movement until she can’t tell where she ends and he begins and she whispers his name into the blend of light and dark that surrounds them. He climaxes a moment later, his fingers burying themselves between her thighs to urge her to follow him and she does, crying out his name.

In the soft aftermath that follows the rough chaos of their pleasure she kisses him tenderly and whispers, over and over, until the very trees and plants themselves know the truth of her words, “I love you,” she breathes into his skin, placing it there, wishing she could mark his flesh with that, with tenderness and love rather than the brutal viciousness of his scars, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Lucien kisses her deeply, softly stroking her hair away from her face as he leans down and rubs noses with her until she smiles and giggles then he murmurs, “I love you too.” Her smile widens and she reaches up to kiss him once more.

They lie together in the soft, lush grass around them, entwined so closely it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins or if they’re just one single being. Lucien tugs a light blanket from the pocket between realms that he explained to her as a kind of magical larder, a comparison that still makes her smile whenever he draws anything from it, and wraps them up in it when she shivers slightly.

Looking around them, Elain sees what their magic made in the midst of their love making. A plant she’s never seen before and doesn’t have a name for. The vines are thick and sleek in various different shades, dark greens and reds and purples and from them dangle flowers as large as their heads that glow and pulse and flicker like miniature suns. Reaching out she gently brushes one of the stems with her hand, examining it in wonder smiling when it winds itself affectionately around her wrist, like a docile snake.

“I never knew I could do anything like this,” she says gesturing around them.

 The most she’s ever managed to produce are small blossoms and blooms and always they’ve been guided by memory and concentration to create them and usually she began with a seed or an existing plant and simply added to it. This...Creating something like this from nothing...She doubts it would have been possible without Lucien. She hopes the strange plant endures here, hopes that it spreads and grows in the Spring Court even as they do.

“Neither did I,” Lucien murmurs softly. She knows how guarded he is with his power, how hard he had fought against it, constantly tamping it down and suppressing it. She had never asked why, had never wanted to push him, but that thought seems to work its way to him down the bond and he drags his fingers through his long, tangled hair, “It’s complicated,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmurs, nuzzling gently against his neck.

She had been firm with him on that point, when he had seemed to feel compelled to share things with her or do things for her because of their bond. She didn’t ever want him to feel like he owed her or as though he _had_ to do anything for her. He’d gotten enough of that sort of expectation in his life. The thought of it still made a little ripple of anger run through her.

But he takes a deep breath and says slowly, looking up, his soft golden skin glowing in the light that comes from their plant, “I hated the power in me. I hated what it was used for. I hated how it hurt, how it consumed and destroyed and corrupted. It was violent and cruel and heartless...Like that court, like them,” he bites out that word with a terse, rough snap in his voice she’s rarely heard before, “I didn’t want to be like that,” he said softly, “I didn’t want to have that power in my veins, didn’t want to use it, didn’t want to hurt the way they did-“ he breaks off, swallowing hard and she pressed in to him as closely as she could, wrapping her arms around him and softly kissing his cheek, trying to soothe and comfort.

Lucien clears his through and continues, his voice a little steadier now, “I never knew that I could do anything like this,” he says, looking around at him with wonder, “I never thought...In all those centuries that I could use that power to create, to give life rather than strip it away. I never saw that that fire could help, keep you warm, light up the darkness around you, guide you home. Not until you showed me.”

She smiles, nuzzling against him and kisses him again, trying to put a lot into that kiss, trying to tell him that she had no idea she could do any of this, never believed in her own potential until he had looked into her eyes and seen it all.

“This Court,” Lucien says quietly, as if in answer to her thoughts, “Its magic...It seems to suit you,” he tells her cautiously, one arm draped around her shoulders, his fingers wandering in endless circles over her skin, with an absent air that suggests he’s not aware he’s doing it, only that some instinct is just driving him to keep them physically connected. She nestles in closer as he kisses the side of her head and says, “You seem at home here.”

Smiling she leans over and presses her forehead to his again as she says softly, “I feel at home with you.”

She kisses him softly, her lips meeting his and murmuring absently against them, lazy and indulgent and intimate. Her mouth opens in silent invitation for his tongue and he obliges her, one hand sliding round behind her head, fingers sliding into her hair. He rubs noses with her when they part then, seemingly unable to help himself, he kisses her again. She laughs softly and responds to him, wrapping her arms around him.

Withdrawing she softly brushes his cheek with her fingers and adds quietly, for the thrill of seeing the shiver that trembles through him, the answering tingle from the bond, “My mate.”

Smiling, he tenderly kisses her – a kiss to gentle and connect and thank and as he does so his fingers wander slowly down her arm until they find hers and lace them together. Leaning in to him she rests her head comfortably on his chest and his arm extends around her shoulder, keeping them together.

It’s late, she can tell by the lightness that creeps into the dark sky, the streaks of gold that shoot through it, like fresh blooms forcing their way from the earth, but she isn’t tired. She and Lucien talk quietly, his voice wrapping softly around her, making her laugh and scowl and pinch him to make him behave himself but as the light begins to push up over the horizon in earnest they both fall silent.

Together they watch as the sun gently ushers in the new day; their first as mates, as partners, and equals. They kiss softly as the soft light warms them and they leave behind the world without this bond and let themselves rise to embrace the new one they’ll help build together as one from its ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! would love feedback on this one if you have a moment to know if this worked out alright!


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